


Layers

by noncorporealform



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve Rogers, Boys in Skirts, Drinking, M/M, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Skirts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 03:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2254260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noncorporealform/pseuds/noncorporealform
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve likes to wear skirts, and it drives Bucky up the wall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Layers

“So, what do you think?” Steve asked.

Bucky caught sight of him and in the next second he was choking on his water. Sputtering turned into coughs as he barely freed his air passageway.

“Holy cow,” Bucky said through a laugh.

“Aw, come on, it’s not that bad,” Steve said through a smile, his hands on his hips, proud as all hell.

“What is that?”

“It’s called a costume.”

Bucky tried to get the words out, but he couldn’t. He didn’t understand two things: why was Steve wearing a skirt? And why was Steve wearing a skirt so short it stopped mid-thigh? No, there was a third question: who made skirts like that? A fourth: who was responsible for this?

The Lolitas. It had to be the Lolita club. They had been trying to get their hands on Steve for dress-up since the start of the year. The club president was especially taxing. That girl had, frankly, an astonishingly large collection of cute things that were not just the impressive Lolita outfits she wore. She'd tried to convince Steve he'd look good in a great many things. It might have had something to do with how young Steve looked, despite being, like Bucky, an older transfer student. But here it was, it had finally happened.

Not only was it ridiculously short and pink as cotton candy, there was so much fluff underneath, made of lace and the like, that it flared out, even more volume added by the gentle pleating. His thin legs had been shaved, despite the fact that nobody could see his blond body hair anyway, and the skirt sat low on bony hip bones that were showing under a top that was a bit short.

Bucky knew it was meant for comic effect so he decided to laugh behind a closed fist to hide the fact that what blood wasn’t rushing to his head was rushing to his junk. He couldn’t even think of anything smart to say.

“This party is going to be ridiculous,” Bucky muttered.

“It’s for art,” Steve said with a shrug.

#

The Fay Wray skit Steve had been roped into was a success, even though Bucky had to shout a line or two from off-stage to get him restarted again. Before Steve came back from behind the curtain (there was no backstage, just a literal shower curtain separating the family room from the dining room) Bucky tried to figure out how many drinks he’d had. He was fairly confident it was four. But half the proceeds at the tap went to the litmag, so he had thought _what the hell_? It was his good deed of the day.

But four, maybe—maybe that was bad for him personally.

He caught sight from across the family room. Steve was standing in the shadows. There, most color was muted except _pink_. Not just of the skirt, but Steve’s skin was flush from hot lights, the warm closeness of a party, and the little bit of booze he was given before his skit, for courage.

He was smiling as he was talking about what he was wearing to an interested fellow art student, and as Steve ran his fingers over the fabric and the frills, Bucky felt lust run through him like a million teasing fingers under every part of his skin.

He charged to the back of the room, threw five dollars into the bucket, and pumped himself another.

#

Steve’s flushing smile had subsided by the time they got back to their dorm. Bucky fell against the door, his key vaguely pointed towards the lock. When Steve took it out of his hand and unlocked the door for him, Bucky realized he had expected his hand to do the rest of the work for him. Bucky began to hop out of his shoes and jerked off his jacket as soon as he entered.

“Did I do something wrong?” Steve asked.

Bucky turned around and through the blur of booze, he saw Steve imploring him.

It was the first time he’d seen Steve really scared. His eyes were big as saucers, the way his eyebrows lifted making him look like a sad puppy who’d been turned into a college kid. It wasn’t the kind of scared that comes with being threatened, it was the kind of scared that comes with expecting to have your heart broken.

Then Bucky realized, he must have been glaring the whole night. In concentrating so hard on thinking about anything else but how Steve’s legs looked sticking out of pink and white tufts of short lacy fabric he’d let himself scowl. He couldn’t help it. It was his default thinking face. A lot of teachers just thought he hated being in a required science class until they learned he was a mechanical engineering major.

“You? Nah,” Bucky was able to say. “I—nah. Nah, man, I love you.”

Steve was so amused and relieved that Bucky smiled, too. He then stumbled, grabbing the back of the chair at his desk to keep from going down.

“Bed,” Steve commanded in a voice deep with authority. The masculine vibration of it trilled through Bucky’s body. But he let himself be led by Steve, but tried to avoiding touching him. He didn’t remember hitting the bed and then falling asleep, but he must have because he woke up the next morning with a pounding in his head, but no belt or boots on.

#

Bucky forgot about that night, and the party, except with it cropped up in his thoughts. He buried the memory under tons of lab work and a an existential philosophy paper he occasionally tried to will into existence. So, a week later, when he walked into their dorm to see that Steve was standing on a stool, bare feet on tippy toes as he reached up to hang a light, he froze at the door. It was the same skirt, nearly revealing everything as it lifted up to reveal the back of his thighs, pale as vanilla ice cream. Bucky’s hand on the door knob became a death grip. Steve had a face like a startled rabbit.

“I’m not gonna ask,” Bucky said and went back into the hall.

He could see Steve stumbling after him, saying he could explain, but Bucky had already retreated down the hall and into the bathrooms. He turned and walked into a stall and let his head fall onto the metal partition with a bang. And then he hit his head against the wall, again and again. Knocked it, one, two, three, four times until he banished the intensity so he at least wouldn’t have to take care of himself. With a hold on his libido and somewhat calmer, he went back to their room.

Steve was back in his jeans and lounging while reading the autobiography of Sargent he had gotten from the library. Steve started to explain that he just liked wearing it, he didn’t know why, and that he knew it was strange, but Bucky wouldn’t let him finish.

He made sure to tell Steve he didn’t have to explain. He had just thought it was a little funny, and really, he did have to take a leak. He let him know that it was fine, it was all fine, and if he had something he wanted to come out about, he could.

Steve just smiled, sweet, the corners of his mouth upturned.

“Thanks, Buck,” he said, but didn’t say anything else.

#

He didn’t wear them every day, so skirt days were unexpected. Bucky hated skirt days.

He loved skirt days because he saw how comfortable Steve was in them. Bucky liked to see him like that, at home as he wore the pink one, or the blue one he got later, with a soft vintage t-shirt and socks. He looked as darling as a doll.

As he sat in companionable silence with Steve as they prepared for finals in two weeks, he definitely hated skirt days.

He hated skirt days because Steve liked to play with the frill. He did it absently, a distraction for fingers used to being busy. While his hands were occupied, Steve could just sit still and read or study. Bucky knew he had no idea what that did to Bucky, long artist’s fingers lifting up fabric and lace, layer by layer, inch by inch, only to have it drop back down. It was bad enough having a crush on your roommate like some college porn cliché, but so far he’d managed to keep it to himself. It had gotten more difficult as summer approached. The ridiculous lust wasn’t helping.

Because he began to notice he would miss Steve when they were in their classes in separate departments on the opposite sides of the campus. He was a good student and it didn’t mean he couldn’t concentrate, but in the back of his mind he was always looking forward to seeing Steve again. When he saw Steve on campus or back in their room, he was overjoyed. When Steve wasn’t there yet, he was a legitimately bummed.

Then there was summer, and it was coming. Bucky would go home a few hours away, and Steve would be back in New York.

He could just let Steve know, but then there was the terrifying idea that stopped him. What if Steve was horrified? What if it was awkward and he couldn’t even enjoy the remaining month being friends? What if coming back for fall became nerve-wracking for them both?

Steve’s fingers gathered the skirt to bunch between his legs as he adjusted how he sat on his bunk. The idea possessed Bucky that he could leap across the room, pick him up and kiss him. In his fantasy, Steve would let Bucky go to town on him. It would be a burst of uncontrolled passion, a movie scene of perfect pitch.

He felt his skin prickle. Bucky was going to burst out of his skin. He put his face behind his molecular chemistry textbook and started reading about the various theoretical qualities of a vibranium and adamantium alloy.

He was so consumed by trying not to think about Steve, that when he felt a hand gently rest on his leg, he flinched, nearly dropping his book. Steve had been trying to get his attention and he looked confused by how startled Bucky was.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“I had a question?” Steve said.

It was a half-question, not sure if it was okay for him to bother Bucky. He was holding his tablet, but Bucky couldn’t see what was on the screen.

“Yeah, sure, doll,” Bucky said.

Bucky’s new, private term of endearment had gotten out of control as it had switched from gentle teasing that used to annoy Steve into what he really called him. Steve smiled and he hopped up on to the raised dorm bed. Bucky immediately folded his textbook over his lap as Steve slid close.

“Can you take a look at this?” Steve asked.

Bucky tried not to flush when Steve’s knee laid casually on top of his thigh. He was wearing sweatpants, but it was still Steve’s touch.

He grabbed the tablet and looked down. His breath stopped when he realized it was him. Bucky recognized his own face, but it was rendered in Photoshop, in blotches of watercolor, and very alive. It was him in the exact sweatpants and sweater combo he was in, the exact textbook that was lying on his lap was in his hands. He hadn’t even seen Steve looking at him.

“It’s—“

“I’ve never tried digital, and I’m kind of having a tough time. You know more about computers, so I thought, maybe you could tell me if I messed up, or something.”

“I can use Autocad, and not very well, so I don’t know how to even begin to—“

“I know, I just wanted an excuse to get on your bed.”

Bucky had seen a cartoon cat once have their hair go up and then back down in a wave from the tail to the head. The feeling that moved through him was exactly like that. His eyes were wide and he refused to look at anything but the tablet. He wasn’t seeing the tablet. There was a haze of unreality in front of his eyes.

And then he felt fingertips on his chin and the slightest pull of them guided his head to the side.

Steve kissed him, and Bucky didn’t know what to do. It was earnest and deep, and Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s broader shoulders. Bucky was frozen. He was like marble, but with a boiling blood core. Steve moved against him, pressing his body in, grabbing at the back of his neck. Bucky’s hands went into nervous fists that were held close to his body.

Steve pulled away and when Bucky stared up at him, he saw heartbreak on Steve’s face. Bucky panicked as he realized his complete inability to move had given the wrong impression. Steve had the same fear that had been stoked in Bucky for months—the fear that if he did it, if he made the move, Steve would be horrified. Or worse, uninterested. Steve started to move away. So Bucky did the only thing he could think of.

He lifted himself up, gathered Steve to press against him. He heard an appreciative mumble in Steve’s throat that never came out because his mouth was too full of Bucky’s tongue. They kissed for so long their lips had enough suction to pop when they separated.

Bucky threw Steve down onto his back and pulled him forward by the hips. Bucky had dreamed, fantasized, and obsessed over what this would look like every day and he wondered if a surge of satisfaction could ever be enough to kill a person. Here he was, Steve’s legs spread coming out of that skirt, pale and soft, and Bucky was between them. Steve lifted and rolled his hips and Bucky laid his palm down onto Steve’s stomach just to feel the roll of it.

Steve grabbed the bottom of his vintage Wizard of Oz book t-shirt and it slipped over his head. His blond hair was wild, messy against his forehead and sticking up in the back like stray cowlicks. Bucky was kissing Steve from his chest down his stomach, going lower, when he felt Steve go for the zipper at the side of the skirt.

Bucky could barely control his hand when it shot over to grab Steve’s wrist.

“No,” Bucky said. “No, no, no. Keep it on. Jesus, Steve, keep it on.”

“You’re gonna ruin it,” Steve protested.

“I’ll be—I’ll be gentle, I just—god fucking damn it, Steve. You’re just so fucking—“

“You will. You’ll ruin it.”

“I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you ten. I’ll buy you anything cute you wanna wear just let me do it like this.”

“Are you trying to be my sugar daddy when you make minimum wage at the Dunkin Donuts?” Steve said with a smartass smirk.

“Shut up,” Bucky said through a laugh.

His hands went under the skirt, and to see them disappear into all that fluff, that alone was heaven. Then he found the waist of Steve’s underwear, the fact that they were just briefs doing _something_ a little extra to the way arousal was roaming through him, and he pulled them down.

He had a change of heart about how he was going to do things. He pulled Steve up, then laid down on his back, guiding Steve to be on top. At first Steve went down to straddle him, but Bucky grabbed him, pulled him up. Steve understood what was happening and let Bucky guide him, and grabbed the headboard of the bed in a good grip.

Bucky wanted to put his mouth on everything under that skirt. His lips smacked as he sucked and kissed at the inbetween places, the flesh where thigh met groin, under the cock, whatever he could get at of his ass. The little noises from Steve were even louder when he worked on Steve’s shaft, until it was as hard as it would get. His own erection was pressing against his sweatpants, but he ignored it as long as he could. He had the thought again and again that he wanted to live under that skirt. But his own desires grew and grew and he needed Steve. From the way Steve’s breath hitched and moaned, he knew Steve was ready, too.

He pushed Steve down, and the sigh that came out of his mouth, of all things, was relieved. He fell back onto the bed, aroused and tousled, while Bucky turned around and reached as far as he could back onto his dresser without having to get out of the bed. He barely got a hold of the shoebox and the very, very edge, but his fingertips caught it and he pulled it towards him. He dug out a condom and a never-used bottle of lube, a kit he privately called the not having a college sex life sadness reminder. Before he even turned around, he could feel Steve’s nimble hands already working Bucky free of the string waist of his sweatpants. Coming back into the bed, he let Steve be the one to wrest him free of his burdensome clothes, the college sweater, his Portal tee, and he was eager enough to get the sweatpants and boxers off in one go. 

He wet his fingers with the lube and opened Steve up, his hands inside all the layers of frill and his mouth occupied with the rest of Steve's body. Steve arched and grinned under his touch.

They had a little pause where they made sure the condom was on right, little whispers asking if that’s right, and yes there was supposed to be a little room at the end, but when Steve started applying the lube it was new. It was really happening.

Steve lowered himself onto Bucky’s hips. He held Bucky’s erection still, guided him. Everything disappeared under his skirt, but Bucky could feel _everything_ he wasn’t seeing.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Bucky cried out.

Whatever word Steve wanted to cry was stuck in his throat as his eyes rolled into the back of his head and his lids fluttered closed.

Steve soon after found his rhythm and rode him to his own pleasure. Bucky couldn’t stop watching the gentle roll of his hips as he fucked onto him soft, slow, and then a bit faster.

Bucky was close. Very close. From the hitch in Steve’s breathing, so was Steve. Bucky thrusted up into him until Steve begged.

 _“There, right there, that’s where I need it. Oh, fuck. Bucky_.”

He seemed to remember at the very last second that he didn’t want to completely ruin his skirt. He pulled the lace up just in time to come on Bucky’s abdomen, his orgasm a prolonged, high noise that was like a laugh, but which no one would mistake for a laugh.

He thought Steve would make him stop, would pull away. But he still let Bucky stay inside, and he pulled Bucky to sit up, held him close, not caring about the body fluid pressing between them. Bucky fucked him, his hands grabbing the bare flesh of his ass and thighs until he came surrounded by the tightness of Steve’s body.

With Steve fallen onto him and Bucky lying on his back, both of them panting, Bucky knew he was about to fall asleep. He didn’t care about anything but the fact that both he and Steve were so tired out, and so happy.

Then Steve prodded him. He was too sleepy to speak, but he pointed to Bucky, to the condom still on him, and the everything else.

Bucky forced himself to wake up just enough to tie off the condom and throw it away. He grabbed his invaluable college kit sanitary wipes and he and Steve both wordlessly took care of each other.

He thought Steve was going to the other side of the room to go to bed in his own bunk, but instead he zipped out of his skirt and slipped into his pajama pants before pulling the mattress off his bed to drop it on the floor.

Bucky understood. He grabbed his own mattress and it dropped easily to the floor. They pushed them together, grabbed their blankets, and once Bucky was back in his sweatpants, they curled against each other and the rest of the night passed by as they slept.

#

Bucky jumped when he realized he was waking up and there wasn’t an alarm. He turned his head and looked for his clock but had forgotten where he had fallen asleep so it took a few seconds to get his bearings. The clock said the time was nine thirty-three am, more than fifteen minutes late to his first lab.

“It’s Saturday,” Steve said, his mouth muffled by the mattress.

Bucky sighed and fell back, curling back into the curve of Steve’s spine. His classes could wait. His club meetings could wait. Kierkegaard could certainly wait, him being dead and all.

“Steve,” he muttered, voice heavy with sleep.

“I know,” Steve said. “I’ll get up.”

Bucky told Steve firmly that wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t use words, though. He told him by the way he held him to him with the unbreakable ring of his arms. He felt Steve smile, even though he couldn’t see him.

“You now, summer semester is pretty long,” Steve said. “Four months is—that’s a long time.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said.

His heart sank at that reminder, and it could be heard in his voice.

“I signed up for summer classes,” Steve confessed.

Bucky’s head perked up. He was awake. He looked down at Steve.

“What?” Bucky asked. “When?”

“Um—when you were asleep. I did it on my phone.”

“ _Why_?”

“You’re in-state. You live a few hours from here. I live in Brooklyn. That’s a hell of a long way from Iowa. I can see you on the weekends and get some of my prereqs done. It’s just a little fee for late dorm registration.”

“Steve, it’s hundreds of dollars.”

“I’ll sell some of my old drawings.”

“ _Don’t you dare_.”

“Bucky, I’m staying.”

Bucky nuzzled into him and Steve pulled him in closer. His eyes were closed up as he let all of it come together. Steve was going to stay. To be with him, to be his boyfriend.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time,” Bucky admitted, the words tumbling out like a dam had finally burst.

“Oh yeah?” Steve said. “Well I’ve been in love longer.”

“No, I have.”

“No, I’ve been in love longer.”

“Shut up.”

“You shut up.”

These words, said through lips curved up in smiles, left no bruises, only little taps of affection.

#

The first week of summer semester was spent mostly on Steve’s face-time. Bucky actually had to start bossing Steve around to get him to do his work. By the time the first Thursday came around he was sure Steve was mad at him. He didn’t hear from him at all on Friday. They were supposed to meet Saturday, so when Bucky only heard one ring before it went to Steve’s voicemail, a little ball of worry began to grow in the pit of his stomach.

He decided to take a walk as evening fell, and he said goodbye to his dad and his sisters when they went to take them to a lake for the weekend, a trip Bucky had cancelled because of his own plans. He wandered to the nearest convenience store, a candy run for Coke and gummi bears, and he didn’t expect to see a small figure sitting on his doorstep. When they saw each other Bucky picked up his pace and Steve stood, looking shyer that he had any business being.

So Bucky picked him up into a bear-hug so tight Steve was laughing while he struggled to breathe in fully.

“My phone was dead when I got on the bus, I didn’t even realize,” Steve began to ramble.

“Nobody’s home,” Bucky interrupted.

They scrambled upstairs and just before Bucky got to his room Steve said to give him a second, it was a long bus ride.

Bucky’s room was nowhere as clean as he wanted it, and he hurried to get out the things they needed within arm’s reach, and to do _something_ with the computer chair that had become a magnet for clean laundry, and he shut off the TV that had been playing idly in the background.

“I’ve missed you, Buck,” Steve said.

Bucky had an empty Coke can in his hand about to be dropped into the trash when he turned to see Steve. He stood proud, with his hands on his hips, his legs planted wide. The new skirt was nicer than the one before, fresher, white lace underneath in a flow of layers.

It was black.

The can collapsed in Bucky’s grip.


End file.
